Remote Control
by kelly michelle fox
Summary: *Finished* Tim and Dick bored on a Saturday afternoon, add the title, and that's all you need to know.


Bruce, Tim, Dick and other chars are not mine (however much I wish they were). They belong to DC and AOL Time Warner.  
  
Ok now that the 'don't sue me' blather is out of the way. . . I wrote this little ditty as a challenge from a friend of mine. . . I was bored and she told me to write something about the boys bickering. . . Well. . . I wasn't in the mood for anything serious. . . so. . . here you get something not quite in character, but HIGHLY amusing. . . At least it amuses me. . . Please review!  
  
~*REMOTE CONTROL*~  
  
Tim Drake sauntered down a vast hall in the extensive maze of Wayne Manor. He seemed to be in his own little world, but in reality, he knew precisely where he was going. The big screen was always free on Saturday afternoons.  
  
Stepping into the room where the TV resided, something was amiss. When he should have been greeted by silence, a pathetic soundtrack blared from the surround sound and a weird guy dressed in black was poking at something on the screen.  
  
"Hey, what's going. . ." Tim stopped mid sentence, and continued as if what he saw explained everything. "Oh hi, Dick."  
  
"Hey, Tim. . ." Dick Grayson replied, not even gracing the teen with a glance. He continued to stare at the TV screen.  
  
Tim watched the TV for a moment, but he couldn't place what Dick was watching. He lost interest quickly.  
  
"If you don't mind me asking, what are you doing here?" Tim plopped on the couch next to the man. "I thought you were spending the weekend with Babs."  
  
"Plans change." It was the kind of blunt, brush off remark that always related Dick to Bruce.  
  
"I see. . ." Tim took Dick's comment to mean that some unexpected work popped up for the always-busy Oracle.  
  
"I could ask you the same thing, you know, Tim," Dick finally turned his attention away from the TV. "What are you doing here?"  
  
Tim laughed. "I came to see if there was anything good in the fridge."  
  
Dick raised an eyebrow. Then he grinned. "Ok, don't tell me. I don't care."  
  
"Have you seen Bruce around?" Tim asked.  
  
"Nope, just got here," Dick shrugged and turned his attention back to the TV. "Alfred said something 'bout a business call. Probably something really boring."  
  
"Ahhh. . ." Tim looked back at the screen. "What is this?"  
  
"What?!" Dick looked shocked and appalled at the question. "You've never seen 'Beatnik Boys Meet Stewhead?!'"  
  
"Uuuhhh. . . can't say that I have. . ." Tim said slowly. He had often wondered if Dick possessed a twinge of insanity. That suspicion had just been confirmed.  
  
"It's the greatest 'Dude' movie of all time!" Dick was getting really excited and he hadn't even started the explanation. He burst into a long blather of words and phrases that Tim seemed to recall hearing somewhere. They were all accompanied by wild gestures and Neolithic grunts. "See. . . It's about this group of guys who don't know what to do with their lives, so they run off to the big city and start to do what they want. Art. Literature. Whatever they can come up with. 'Turns out this rock star, Stewhead, really 'digs' their style. And these guys become famous for doing nothing. . ."  
  
"Sounds like garbage. . ." a deep, growling voice interrupted. Bruce stood in the doorway, watching the TV. It seemed he was only half listening to what Dick was saying.  
  
Dick frowned. "Who asked you?"  
  
Tim tried to hold in his laughter. He had to agree with Bruce on the matter, but would never be so blunt.  
  
"What are you two doing here?" Bruce seemed to not care that it was Saturday or that they were just there to waist time. He never believed in such a thing.  
  
"I'm watching 'Beatnik Boys Meet Stewhead,'" Dick stated bleakly.  
  
"I thought you were in Gotham to spend the weekend with Barbara," Bruce stated, not seeming to care about its possible implications.  
  
"Something came up," Dick mumbled shortly.  
  
Bruce seemed to accept Dick's answer and he turned to Tim. Before he could ask, the teen stated, "I'm here to see what you have in the fridge."  
  
Tim's statement didn't seem to register in Bruce's mind. He raised an eyebrow. "Are you really that desperate for something to do?" the question was directed at both sitting on the couch.  
  
"No," they replied in unison and turned back to the TV.  
  
"Dick, do we really have to watch this?"  
  
"Dude, yes."  
  
". . . Dick. . . this is a B movie, at best. . ."  
  
"That's the whole point, Tim. Independent thinking! Independent film!" Dick punched the air for emphasis.  
  
Tim wasn't convinced. He stared blankly at the TV and then at Dick. Slowly and stealthily, his hand reached out toward the remote. An inch from snatching it up, Dick flew in and grabbed it out of his grasp.  
  
"HA!" Dick gushed in triumph.  
  
"You think I'd give it up so easily?!" Tim roared. He pounced, wrestling Dick for the remote.  
  
Each had one end of it. They pulled and tugged. Tim put his free hand against Dick's shoulder, and being on his knees gave him more leverage. Dick punched Tim in the stomach just hard enough to win the advantage, but Tim recovered quickly, returning the favor.  
  
The plastic of the remote began to creak under the pressure, but neither of them seemed to notice it. It was the third person, the observer, the owner, who noted that the remote would soon self-destruct.  
  
Bruce, who the other two didn't realize was still there, swept in. He consecutively smacked both their heads and liberated the remote.  
  
"You're still here?" Dick rubbed his head where he'd been boffed.  
  
Tim winced and looked up at Bruce.  
  
"Find something better to do," he ordered.  
  
Using the privilege of the remote, Bruce changed the channel to the 24 hour news station that was reporting on the stock market. Then he moved to the nearest free chair and sank into it with a rather smug expression.  
  
Both Dick and Tim watched this with something close to horror. Glancing at each other, they grinned and nodded. A second later they both shot from the couch on the warpath.  
  
"'Beatnik Boys Meet Stewhead' or DIE!"  
  
"VIVA LA REMOTE!" 


End file.
